Page 50 of Alien Assassin's Heir

My claws drum the table. “I got it.”

“And?”

“And I’ll do what I always do. Assess. Report.”

“Don’t get clever,” he warns, gravel in his tone. “This isn’t a negotiation. If the executive leans Alliance, you cut him loose before he poisons the well. The Combine tips their weight, the Coalition loses Arkosh. You know what that means.”

“I know exactly what it means.” My voice comes out low, controlled, though every muscle in my body coils to strike. “But you remember something, Targen. I don’t miss.”

There’s a pause, then that dry chuckle I’ve hated since the first time I heard it. “Good. Don’t start now. And Kraj?”

“What.”

“Stay away from the woman. Assets complicate things. You were never good at walking away when you should.”

The comm clicks dead before I can answer.

I slam my fist into the table hard enough to rattle the whole shack. Dust falls from the ceiling, the terminal flickers, my knuckles throb. I don’t care.

Because Targen’s wrong.

I’m not walking away this time.

I’ll walk into fire if I have to. But I won’t walk away.

I don’t tellher about the orders. Not tonight. Not when the air smells of warm soil and spice, not when the suns are dropping low over Wildwood’s ridge and throwing fire across the sky. Not when Solie’s laughter rises above the hum of insects like music I didn’t know I needed.

Instead, I sit on the edge of her yard with Luna pressed against my side, her head tucked into that space between my shoulder and my neck like she’s always belonged there. My arm wraps around her without thinking, claws grazing lightly against the fabric of her tunic. Her scent—soap, sweat, and the faintsweetness of the fruit I brought her last night—fills my chest and makes it ache.

Solie’s chasing a synthbutterfly across the scrubby grass, the little machine flickering blue as it dodges her grasp. She shrieks with delight, her small legs pumping, her arms outstretched. The sound of her laughter twists something sharp and soft inside me all at once.

“This is nice,” Luna murmurs, her voice muffled against my chest.

I huff out something between a laugh and a sigh. “Yeah. Almost doesn’t feel real.”

“Arkosh never does,” she says. “Everything here feels temporary. Fragile.”

My gaze lingers on Solie, her hair catching the last strands of sunlight, her face flushed from running. “Some things aren’t.”

Luna looks up at me then, and stars help me, I almost tell her everything right there. The orders. The suspicion eating me alive. The truth clawing to get out. But I swallow it down, force my lips into a smile, and kiss her forehead instead. She lets herself sink against me again, and I let the lie stand.

The butterfly darts close, and Solie finally manages to catch it. She holds it cupped in her tiny hands, grinning proudly as she trots back toward us. “Look, Mama! Look, mister dragon man!”

She opens her hands, and the thing flutters weakly, its wings glowing faintly. Then it buzzes away, leaving her giggling as she claps her hands. She doesn’t sit next to us. She climbs straight into my lap like she belongs there.

I freeze. Every muscle locks, every thought scatters. Luna tenses beside me, but she doesn’t stop her.

Solie curls against me, her small body warm, her breath puffing soft against my chest as she sighs. She doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t flinch at my scales, doesn’t seem to notice the sharp edges of me at all. She just trusts. Instantly. Absolutely.

And something inside me breaks.

I stare down at her, at the tiny fist curling into my tunic, at the way her golden eyes—my eyes—blink up at me with sleepy contentment. My heart stumbles, trips, crashes.

The laugh that escapes her when I tickle her side is Luna’s laugh, higher and brighter, but the cadence—the rhythm of her voice—it’s mine. The tilt of her nose is Luna’s, but the line of her jaw, the angle of her smile… I know them. I know them because I’ve seen them every time I looked in a mirror.

It’s not suspicion anymore.

It’s certainty.